Thong Song (Chanson du Thong)

I sing you a song,
the song of the thong
that jewel of girly apparel:
to all those who wear it
and then grin and bare it
I dedicate this little carol.

Some call it a G-string,
a “Guys look at me” thing
that girlies hide under their jeans
then find clever ways
to make sure it displays
and everyone knows what it means

Oh sure they’d act shocked
if you pointed and mocked
this road sign to cellulite city
But it’s they who bend over
and leave me in clover
inspired to pen this little ditty

It was only today
that a popsy called Fay
reached down to a hanky she’d dropped
I stood there askance
at the lack of romance
as up from the deeps her thong popped

Thin straps sliced the fat
like the band round a hat
as they strained to hold in her behind
if she thought I was hooked
she couldn’t have looked
at the horror that spilled from my mind

For her withers were lined
like old bacon rind
that a sparrow would shudder to peck
and the hillocks and bays
that met my shocked gaze
looked just like an elephant’s neck

So girls hear my plea
as I sink to one knee
and implore you to show more reserve
If you must show your briefs
to us Indian chiefs
wear the undies you truly deserve